Ressstitution
by Moczo
Summary: Written for the 2009 GO Exchange. In ancient times a demon wants Aziraphale dead, and Crowley saves his life only to regret it. Aziraphale isn't nearly as nice as he ought to be sometimes.


This was written for LJ's **scribblephoenix **for the 2009 GO Exchange. I just forgot about it until THIS exchange! Enjoy :D**  
**

* * *

"_Lisssten, angel, let'sss not minccce words. You've been… fair. To repay you, I will be the one to kill you."_

"… … _Pardon?"_

"_You've earned that from me; a clean painlesssss death. You won't get that from anyone elssse. Ssso. You're not allowed to die until I get to kill you, y'hear?"_

"… _As you wish."_

* * *

There was a time in human history that angels and demons walked the Earth without any sort of need to disguise themselves. Humans knew full well of their existence and didn't bat an eyelash when an angel came into town and began attempting to teach them how to write, nor when a demon snuck in and started threatening the local plant life.

As such when Aziraphale (recently Aziraphael) walked into Uruk with his golden curly hair styled long (which was in fashion at the time), wearing his angelic raiment (which was definitely not) and allowing his broad pearl-coloured wings to glimmer in the sunlight, no one seemed to really care, except for the occasional longer-lasting stares at his wings. Of course, Uruk was also the largest city in the known world at the time and indeed one of the few settlements that could be called a "city," so Aziraphale, who was looking to blend in anyway, found himself merely one of a large crowd, which also attributed to why no one cared he had a halo and wings.

As such, Aziraphale lived among the citizens of Uruk for many years, becoming known to his superiors and coworkers as the city-state's patron angel, although it didn't require much on his part until a good couple of years into his tenure. After all, the Sumerian people were polytheistic and tended to see Aziraphale's God as merely one of large group of gods, and Aziraphale smiled pleasantly and went about his business, teaching the people literacy as best he could, healing ailments and greeting passersby. His method of business was to keep track of records and to create pictographs, and he was incredibly good at it.

This all changed after ten years of his presence in town. On a dry day, Aziraphale was tidying up his small mud-brick home in the center of the city – he was molting, much to his chagrin – when his head perked up. A demon was approaching. It felt like ages since he had last seen one.

Aziraphale bid a good morning to his neighbors as he closed his store and walked to the west, wishing for the first time that he hadn't given away his sword. Daggers were all well and good, but not as effective at smiting as he would have preferred. _Ah well, what's done is done._

He walked through the city, delighting in the feel of wind in his feathers, and was slightly nervous that he could be walking into a fight up until he saw the demon he sensed and actually smiled.

* * *

On the eastern bank of the Euphrates, there was a very large, very out-of-place-looking snake dragging a large winged man in its mouth. Said man was riddled with holes and very clearly dead.

Crowley, or Kur as he was known nowadays (he was biding his time until Crowley became an acceptable name), had a general rule of thumb when it came to bodily transfiguration: the less maggots, the better. Changing from an attractive human to different-looking-yet-still-attractive human was acceptable. Changing from an attractive human back into an attractive-in-a-different-way serpent was also acceptable. Changing from an attractive human into a grotesque maggot-ridden creature with more nipples and limbs than could possibly be necessary for a male being to have was utterly frowned upon. Hence why when he had gotten involved in a fight with another demon on _his territory_ and had expended enough energy that made being a human quite painful, he reverted back into a fairly large serpent and didn't feel too terribly put-off by it.

He didn't know the demon's name. He had seen it and overheard it talking about the angel of Uruk and how he'd been assigned to kill him, and Crowley had just… reacted. He knew the angel in question and had claimed dibs on his death, and who was this freak to go after his prey? Without _permission_?

The angel in question was beaming as he walked over. "Hello Crawly," he said cheerfully.

Crowley slithered away from the remains of the demon and curled up on a rock. "Go by Crowley now," he informed him.

"Ah, that's right. I forgot. And who is this here?"

" 'sss a demon. He wassss huntin' you," Crowley murmured. He had been hurt more than he thought; he was falling asleep. In front of an _angel_. He tried his best to keep awake, but he had used up so much energy… Well, Aziraphale was a decent sort of angel, hadn't killed him the Garden, and really, it wasn't as if Crowley had a choice in the matter, as he could feel himself growing more and more tired…

"Really?" Aziraphale asked as both eyebrows shot up. "My my. I wonder why."

"I don't know," the serpent replied, lazily resting his head. "Sssseemed to be a contract. He wassssn't talking. And anyway he'ssss dead now. Thought I'd bring him to you, ssssso you'd know."

"Ah," Aziraphale said, inspecting his gift. A tiny part of Crowley's serpentine brain hoped he liked it. "Thank you."

Aziraphale poked the corpse before sighing and asking Crowley what he was expected to _do_ with such a thing. When he got no response, he looked over and smiled again; Crowley had fallen asleep. Aziraphale wrapped the sleeping serpent over his shoulder and hefted the demon corpse as well, assuming Crowley would be offended if he left his present out in the middle of nowhere.

How _peculiar_ this was. Someone was hunting him? Perhaps Uruk was a target now; it was a larger city than most, from what Aziraphale had seen of other places (which, admittedly, was very little, as he was a very sedentary angel at heart), and probably attracted more attention that he'd care to admit.

Maybe it was time to leave?

Aziraphale pondered this as he walked through the town, only gaining the barest of intrigued glances as he carried the two demons. Once he made it back to his little home, he dropped the dead demon in the corner and placed the living demon down on what constituted his bed, tucking him in.

He gazed at Crowley's sleeping form as he mused over the idea of leaving Uruk. Surely there were other places in the world that needed his guidance. Not that he gave a lot of guidance here. Which was exactly the point of why he was here in the first place…

Crowley hissed through his teeth and coiled up, and Aziraphale watched in fascination as the serpentine form altered itself to be the handsome black-haired man that Aziraphale recognized from shortly after the Eden Debacle. The demon was still asleep and wrapped in Aziraphale's blankets almost as if he hadn't just changed forms. His eyebrows were twitching, and Aziraphale vaguely wondered what he was dreaming of.

* * *

"_I've got sssomething to tell you. I'm… not really a talking sssnake."_

_A knowing smile. "Oh, really? You've certainly fooled me. What are you, then?"_

_"I'm… I'm a Fallen Angel. I'm sssorry for deccceiving you but I – well, I should go now-"_

_"Wait. Ahem. Begone, foul demon. There. Now, yesterday you were telling me about some odd animals you saw; care to continue?"_

_A surprised look. "Oh. Well, there was thissss thing, it had a bill and a pouch…"_

* * *

It didn't take overly long for Crowley to recover himself, and no one in Uruk batted an eyelash at a demon and an angel living together. Both of them vaguely wondered why Crowley wasn't leaving, and the demon in question contented himself with the idea that he was there to corrupt Uruk, or possibly to kill the angel in any moment of weaknesses. That he kept his supernatural senses open to feel for any sort of threats to said angel was really to feel for any sort of threats to himself.

"Wool is so scratchy," he admitted as he looked at the bundle in the angel's arms, "Why don't you just miracle yourself something nicer?"

"Because that's cheating," Aziraphale replied gamely, "And I don't know about _your_ system of government, but in _mine_ if I performed too many miracles I would have one of my superiours coming down to investigate."

"Oh. Yeah, that doesn't happen for us," Crowley responded, silently amazed at how open they were being about the whole angel/demon thing, which was usually a topic they avoided, "They don't really _care_. Well, unless we call too much attention to ourselves and cause a ruckus. In which case-" Crowley cut himself off and looked up from his place at Aziraphale's side, instantly snarling and clenching his fists. "Demon," he said tersely.

Aziraphale's head rose and he looked at Crowley with interest. "A demon? Ah, yes, I can sense it now too. … … … Oh dear."

"Sssstrong demon," Crowley hissed, the feathers on his wings ruffling, "I can't tell who, but he'ssss in _my territory_, and he'ssss going to _die_." He quickly strode from Aziraphale's side, and miraculously none of the civilians were in his way.

Aziraphale frowned and followed him. He could sense the new demon, and this new demon was most certainly stronger than Crowley. Yes, perhaps it _was_ time to move from Uruk, especially if his presence here was putting the city in danger…

After they passed a few houses on their way toward the outside of town, Crowley finally seemed to realize Aziraphale was going with him; he stopped and swirled, fixing the angel with a glare that was obviously meant to be commanding. "Ssstay back. Go home."

"_Really_ dear, I can very well take care of myself," Aziraphale said sternly. "I'm a veteran of the Host, you know, with an honourable discharge.*"

Crowley's glare turned into a confused stare. "Did you just call me 'dear'?"

Aziraphale smiled at him, ignoring his ears turning red from embarrassment, and continued walking forward.

Crowley followed him remarkably quickly. "Really, did you just call me '_dear'_?" he asked at Aziraphale's shoulder, "Because there are terms that I will accept being referred to as, and dear is not even close to being on the list!"

"We're going to go fight a demon who is much more powerful than both of us combined," Aziraphale reminded him.

"Yeah," Crowley muttered, "Yeah. A Great President, by the feel of him."

Aziraphale chortled despite himself. "That is by far the most inane title I have ever heard. A Great President? What does that even mean?"

"Oh come on, this coming from someone whose hierarchy has the rank of 'archangel' which is second to last, and the _title_ 'Archangel', which is the best of the best and composed of Seraphim? What sense does _that_ make?" Crowley retorted.

"I never said it did," Aziraphale replied primly. "But it doesn't have to. It's all part of the Ineffable Plan."

"You know, some day I'm going to make it a rule that you aren't allowed to use that word anymore. Well, by that I meant 'ineffable,' but 'plan' is another one. Regardless, this is a demon problem and you shouldn't be coming out with me."

"He's likely here to see if I can be removed as the defender of Uruk, and so I ought to be the one to deal with him, and that's that."

"That is _not_ that - " Crowley cut himself off as the antagonizing demon came into view. "Oh crap, it's Barbas."

"Tell me what all I shall be dealing with, and quickly."

* * *

* By an "honourable" discharge he meant an "I can't believe you lost that awesome sword get out of my army before I smite you, you horrible loser" discharge.

* * *

Barbas, depending on whom you ask of course, was a Great President of Hell; that being said, he also didn't know what exactly that meant. He had legions of demons and was very good at causing diseases, teaching the mechanical arts, and changing men into other shapes*.

Typical of demons of the time, Barbas wanted to expand his holdings in Hell and knew that the best and only way to do so was to prove to the Higher Ups that he was worthy of more territory. The best way of doing _that_ was to either:

a) work towards bringing about Armageddon and the triumph of Hell;  
b) kill some angels; or  
c) work towards the Triumph of Hell while killing some angels.

Typically speaking, angels were somewhat sneaky and didn't broadcast their presence, but there was one exception to this rule. Even better, this particular angel was only a Principality and thus would be a fairly easy target… And best of all, the angel lived in _Uruk_ of all places, which, at the time, was the largest city on Earth.

All three were beautiful reasons why Barbas bribed his way out of Hell and went up to the surface.

He didn't have to do much; angels were nosy things, so just by standing out of the city limits he knew he was going to have company soon. And he was right: not long after he arrived, he was joined by an angel and…

Barbas cocked his head to the side. "Who're you?" he asked the lesser demon that had shown up with the angel.

The lesser demon was obviously some sort of snake demon; Barbas himself was a lion demon, but at the moment he appeared human (except for the kitty cat ears. He thought they made him look rather dashing). "I'm the one whossse territory you're in," the lesser hissed back.

The angel rolled his eyes as he ignored his companion and stepped forward, walking up to Barbas and smiling at him. "Good afternoon," he said pleasantly, "My name is Aziraphale, and I am the patron angel of this city. Now, if you don't mean any harm I'm sure that we will get along pleasantly; however, should your purpose here be nefarious in nature, I'm afraid I am going to have to smite you. Nothing personal, you understand. Business is business."

"Riiight," said Barbas, utterly perplexed by the forwardness of this angel. "You and what sword?"

Snakey walked up and stood next to the angel. "He doesssn't need a sword; he hasss _me_. Again, you're on _my_ territory, so get out of here before I get _angry_."

Barbas wasn't sure what to do. One angel was easy, but an angel and a demon working together was… Well he wasn't sure what it was, but he knew it wasn't difficult enough for him to truly worry about it, so he decided to go ahead and try his luck against the two.

That was a big mistake.

At first he thought he stood a chance; his very first move was a bolt of energy aimed at the angel, and while the angel didn't get hit by it, it did hit the demon when he pushed the angel out of the way. That was quite acceptable; in fact, Barbas decided to give the angel a few moments to gape at the pile of clothes that had once been his "friend."

"That's what happens when a demon decides to work with an angel!" Barbas declared, as he always enjoyed finding morals.

The angel fixed Barbas with a glare and out of nowhere a sword made of pure light appeared in his hand. Barbas attempted to hit the angel, but the quick-moving holy being dodged expertly and skewered him in the chest. If he didn't descend now, he would die quite permanently.

Well, he consoled himself as he descended, at least he had taken care of that smarmy-looking hisser.

* * *

* As per the _Ars Goetia_, at least; again, those powers change depending upon whom you ask. Common theory holds that this makes it more complicated for humans to exploit demonic powers, but in actuality it's because Hell's bureaucracy is extremely disorganized because no one cares enough to figure out who does what, so when asked, they make things up.

* * *

Once Barbas was gone, Aziraphale stared at the pile of clothes that used to be Crowley with wide eyes and a slightly-ajar mouth. "Oh my."

"S."

He approached the remains cautiously, almost reverently, before reaching down and gently touching the soft cloth. He lightly lifted it into his arms, still too in shock to truly –

Something small and squiggly fell from the clothes and writhed on the ground. Aziraphale, veteran of the Host who had just banished a demon multiple times stronger than himself, screamed and jumped back, throwing the clothes away from him. He recovered himself quickly and laughed warily at his nerves, looking around to see if anyone had spotted him. There was still no one around.

He crouched down and picked up the wiggly thing.

It was a snake.

And it was _adorable_.

"Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww," said Aziraphale.

"Ssshut up," said the snake.

"Cwowwy, is that you?" Aziraphale cooed to the snake that now fit comfortably in the center of his palm. The black reptile looked up at him with small golden eyes.

"Don't you dare."

"Wook at you!" He scratched underneath the miniscule serpent's chin. "You'we adowable! I'm gonna take such good cawe of you whiwe you'we so widdwe and kyoote 3"

"I hate you."

Aziraphale started walking back to town, leaving the clothes behind and holding Crowley in his palm. "I wuv you," he said cheerfully, "You'we just the sweetest sewpent evew!"

"That'sss it, the _moment_ I get back to normal, I'm finally killing you."

"Heehee! What a vicious pwedatow you are! Yes you are, yes you are! I'm twembling in feaw of youw awesome wath!" Aziraphale couldn't stop smiling as he walked back into his home and fetched a small chalice, but instead of filling it with a drink he filled it with small scraps of fabric. He placed Crowley on top. "There you are dear," he said, finally dropping the baby talk, "a little nest for you. That way I don't have to worry about accidentally stepping on you or losing you."

"You're joking. I'm not living in a cup," Crowley protested, nuzzling the fabric. He yawned.

"Awwwww," said Aziraphale.

Crowley fixed him with a glare. "Ssstop that. Thisss isn't funny. What if I'm ssstuck like thisss forever?"

Aziraphale pondered that. "Then I suppose it would be in my best interests to know what kind of food a snake of your size eats."

"Ssserpent, you bassstard."

* * *

After long, difficult thinking on his part, Aziraphale decided that it was time for him to go look for smaller and better things. It wasn't that he disliked his current home, but he most certainly disliked attracting attention to it. Maybe in his next spot he would assume a human identity and draw less violence in his wake.

"What do you think, Crowley?" he asked as he packed. "I'm thinking of heading north, but I wouldn't want to do that if you thought it was a bad idea."

"You're leaving?" the still-tiny snake demanded. He had grown about two inches in the past week, leading them both to believe that he would, in time, regain his full size. "You can't possssibly leave me like this! What kind of angel are you!"

"Well of course you're going to stay with me until you get larger," Aziraphale admonished, lifting the serpent up and holding him awkwardly, obviously not sure where to put him. Finally he settled on his hair, and a grumbling Crowley slithered off Aziraphale's hands and into the mass of curls. "We'll figure out why you're not getting larger; perhaps you simply need more time, who knows. Regardless, I'm not letting you out of my sight until then."

Crowley frowned and poked his head out. "Thisss is degrading. Why can't you carry me?"

"Because I need to carry both of our belongings," Aziraphale replied patiently, lifting their bags, one in each hand.

"Miraclesss."

"I told you before," as Aziraphale left his little home for the last time it seemed to the residents of his former city that he was talking to nothing, "I can't do many of those without drawing suspicion, but if you really _want_ someone like Gabriel to come down here and wonder why I'm carrying double the amount of luggage I ought to be and why there's a snake in my hair…"

"_Ssserpent. _But okay, fine, you've made your point. So you promissse you won't dump me some placcce?"

"I promise."

A look of concentration appeared on that tiny reptilian face. "Okay then," he said, "We'll be … well, we'll be like a team. You know, I do miracles, and you do the ass-kicking."

"Watch your language."

"_Fine_, you do the, the swordsmanship."

"And?"

Crowley sighed. "I refuse to say it."

Aziraphale smiled, knowing he was the smart one. "Fair enough, dear."

"We'll be like Batman and Robin," the serpent said with a snakeish smile.

"Like who?"

"Eh, you'll underssstand eventually."

* * *

_Approximately 6,000 years later:_

"Ohhh," said Aziraphale with sudden understanding while watching the television late one night. "But which one is Robin?"

Crowley's London flat was the epitome of style… but Crowley did not live there. That was because he lived in a dingy old bookshop in Soho, with its back room filled with rare and expensive books, and its bookkeeping angel. The flat was for when he and the angel got into arguments and he was banished to the proverbial couch.

"Robin isn't in this movie," Crowley explained, taking another hand full of popcorn.

"Then how can you be Robin if there isn't one?"

"Because _I_ am obviously Batman," said Crowley, wondering if Aziraphale had more knowledge on the subject than he was letting on or if he had just gotten lucky. "I've got the car for it."

"But there isn't a Robin." Aziraphale handed him a napkin so he wouldn't get butter and salt on the dilapidated couch.

"That's not the point I was trying to make anyway. The point was that we're a team, you know? A dynamic duo, if you will."

"And if I won't," the angel replied matter-of-factly.

"… Right. So, how drunk are you?"

"Very," Aziraphale slurred.

"You got started without me? Either you're really happy or really depressed."

"That would be the second choice, the depressed choice, actually."

"Were you contacted about the You-Know-What?" Crowley asked, feeling his unnecessary heart beat a little faster against his equally unnecessary ribcage.

Aziraphale shook his head sloppily. "More like the You-Know-Who."

"Aaaangel. Sober up, would you?" Even as he demanded that of Aziraphale, Crowley began to get drunk.

He hunched over and buried his face in Crowley's lap. "We're gonna _die_," he wailed, "_Dead_."

"Which You-Know-Who are we talking about?" Crowley asked, going over a mental list of the entities who would like to see him dead. Hastur, Beelzebub, Satan by default, God by even more default –

"The one. With the face. And the ears."

"Well now I know exactly who you mean," Crowley drawled.

"Don't mock me," the angel moaned, not sitting up, "If you knew who it was you'd be scared too! He's going to kill us! He'sh a – a – he'sh got a title! And the title makes no sense but it means he's special!"

Crowley blinked. "What kind of ears?"

"Kitty cat ears."

"… … oh crap." Instantly visions of being carried and nearly stepped on and almost rolled over and… well, they were all coming back to him.

"He wants his revenge upon me," Aziraphale informed Crowley's lap, "And you said it yourself he's a Great President, and that means he's special right, although it still sounds stupid."

"But you beat him last time," Crowley said, taking a drink. "You beat him _easily_."

"Well at that point I was freshly out of the Host, had a spring in my step, but _now_, _now_ I've been – you've been tempting me into sitting on my arse for a couple of millennia and _now_ he would, what are the kids saying, _rock me like an avalanche."_

"Hurricane," he corrected absently. "So you really think if he showed up-"

"Yes."

" – he would kill us both?"

"Yeeeees. He would. Planning on it, in fact. That's how I heard of it. Someone Down There told someone Up There and someone Up There told me, and then I got really depressed because no one Up There seems to mind that there's a demon after me, thanks to the You-Know-What. Which I don't think is very nice of them, to be completely honest with you."

"So, Barbas is going to come up and kill you," Crowley said tentatively, "and no one is going to help you or anything because of the, the incidences?"

"I'm sho dead," Aziraphale muttered.

"Aziraphale, we'll think of something. Try sobering up, will you?"

"Sorry," Aziraphale said, rolling over and entirely sober. "It's just… It's been a very, very long time since I've had to worry about a demon trying to _kill _me."

"As opposed to just trying to get in your trousers?" Crowley asked rhetorically with a grin.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

"Well don't you worry about a thing, angel," said Crowley certainly, "No other demons are going to hurt you. I know exactly what to do."

* * *

Barbas wanted vengeance. He had spent the last six thousand years recovering himself (and he still had an ache in his chest when it got cold Down There) and plotting his revenge, but apparently hunting down and killing angels was considered a bad idea nowadays, what with the whole "blending in" thing, so he was forced to bide his time.

That is, at least, until the angel he wanted to kill went ahead and stopped the Apocalypse. After that he ended up in Hell's Bad Books _and_ Heaven's Frowned Upon Books, and the door was open for Barbas' revenge.

Enough people had told him exactly where Aziraphale lived – a small bookshop in Soho, which was apparently part of London, which apparently part of Britain, which was apparently part of Earth – that Barbas was able to calmly stroll into the shop, easy as you please. There was no need for planning, after all. From all accounts, the angel was no longer anything close to being a warrior and so Barbas could just overpower him.

When he opened up the door, which was locked, there was a bell that sounded coated in dust, and he jumped a little bit as he expected it to attack him, which it didn't. However, there was also no angel in the room. But this was where he was supposed to live! Barbas frowned until he noticed there was another door that was closed which led to another room. He could sense an angelic aura from behind it. Ah ha, he was probably back there.

Barbas opened the door and became a pile of blessed goo.

* * *

"Messy, but I must admit it got the job done," Aziraphale said as he used an old mop to clean up the remains of Barbas off his back room floor.

"The old 'bucket of holy water on the door' trick gets them every time," Crowley said with a grin. "You can thank me now or later."

Aziraphale gave him a Look before continuing the cleaning. "We're now _even_, Crowley," he said sternly. "You certainly never thanked me for saving you the first time."

"That's because you went and rubbed it in," Crowley retorted. He stood up and sauntered up the angel, pinching his cheek. "Weww if you wanna have us be even, I guess I _can_ tawk to you wike this fow a few _yeaws, _you adowabwe widdwe chewub…"

"Don't you dare."

Crowley grinned before fondly grabbing the angel's arse. "Of course, I can think of an even _better_ way…"

Aziraphale gave a very put-upon sigh but repaid him all the same.


End file.
